In July 1940, the Tacoma Narrows Bridge opened with great fanfare. Stretching nearly 6,000 feet across Puget Sound, it was the third-longest suspension bridge in the world — sleek, efficient and by all accounts a triumph of modern design. It was also one of the cheapest bridges of its kind ever built.

In the early 2000s, a small Canadian company called Research in Motion (better known by its product name, BlackBerry) sat at the center of the mobile world. The glowing red light on a BlackBerry meant you were connected to the action. Heads of state carried them. CEOs clipped them to their belts. The physical keyboard felt inevitable, and the company’s mastery of secure email made it the gold standard for mobile communication.

There’s a lesson here for every organization. In the rush to be heard, it can be tempting to add more — more words, more images, more flair. But often, the strength of communication lies not in what you add, but in what you take away. Clarity isn’t about saying everything; it’s about saying the right thing, simply and consistently.

In the late 1960s, a group of researchers in the United States began experimenting with ways to connect computers across long distances. Their project, ARPANET, was groundbreaking, but it remained the domain of scientists and specialists for decades. The technology to link computers existed, but it was complex, clunky and inaccessible to most people.

Stretching for thousands of miles across mountains, deserts, and plains, the Great Wall of China is one of the most extraordinary structures in human history. Built and rebuilt over centuries, its purpose was simple: protection. It was meant to keep invaders out and secure those within. And in many ways, it worked. The Wall became a visible mark of identity: it declared, “Here is where China begins, and this is who we are.”

In 1826, a French inventor named Joseph Nicéphore Niépce set up a primitive camera in the upstairs window of his estate in Burgundy, France. Using a metal plate coated with a light-sensitive substance, he attempted something no one had ever done before: to capture light itself and hold it permanently. The exposure took about eight hours. When the plate was finally removed, the result was faint and difficult to read. Blurry rooftops, hazy barns, and vague trees emerged in shades of gray.